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After The Dragons Danced (A Rhaena Targaryen SI) -- 13. The Trials of Tyrosh
🕑 Added 2024-11-14 09:00:00 +0000 UTCEleventh Moon, 131AC | Tyrosh
BAELA
Her head was pounding as she slumped on her feather-bed in her and her sister’s suite in the Archon’s Palace. The lapping of the waves of the midnight sea reached her through the high windows she had just ordered opened, but it did little and less to soothe the ache. A heavy groan left her when her handmaid, Dyanna, gently reminded her that she was still dressed in her day clothes.
“Very well,” Baela responded, standing as the maid went to strip her of the garments, “and run me a bath, perhaps that might help with this headache.” She was glad of these tiny privileges. They had so much to worry about, it was a comfort to leave the little things on their trusted and loyal household. Dyanna responded with a nod.
In these past two moons, understanding had finally dawned on Baela regarding why her father had never just taken the Triarchy for his own using the threat of Caraxes instead of waging a decade long war of attrition with them over control of the Stepstones. Laying waste to cities was easy work for an army with a dragon flying above them, but conquering and holding one, that was a different matter entirely. Rhaena had gone on a long tirade once, grumbling about the half-hearted job Visenya and her siblings did in conquering Westeros. Baela now understood. It was much, much easier to do what they did than what they were attempting to accomplish, with just one city besides.
They had thought themselves to have properly planned the Conquest of Tyrosh. As she was riding out to Red Lake to seek out Silverwing, Rhaena had sent spies to infiltrate the city and obtain information on the nobles who were part of the ruling Tyroshi conclave. They had done their work well. Once they conquered the city, the entirety of the nobility was done away with in a public fashion, to show the slaves that they would be free and under the protection of House Targaryen for the rest of their days. These nobles had been clapped in chains, marched to the centre of the city, and then bathed in Silverwing’s white flames and Morning’s pink and black ones. The dragons had then feasted on their charred corpses as the populace cheered in delight at the deaths of their enslavers.
They had earned new epithets as the red three-headed dragon of her house was unfurled in various buildings and homes all over the city; Baela the Breaker, for breaking their chains; Rhaena the Redeemer, for liberating them from their yoke of servitude and Viserys the Valiant; for having the courage to end centuries of cruelty. Slavery was officially declared illegal on the island that was now placed under the territory of the Stepstones, which itself was declared a part of the Iron Throne’s realm.
Afterwards, was when the trials had begun. Four hundred and fifty thousand souls populated the island city itself, almost a million more in the mainland territories that they would not dare touch; they did not desire to take territories in the quarrelsome continent of Essos; no, those would be left for Pentos and Volantis to squabble over. Of the population in the city proper, three in four were slaves. That meant that thousands of Tyroshi were freeborn merchants who were not rich enough to be named nobles or be offered a place on the conclave, but many were wealthy enough to own slaves of their own.
Inspired by them, the true slaves who had just been freed now took out their anger on these freeborn citizens. By their thousands, they were slaughtered in their homes; men, women, children and even babes at their mother’s breasts had their heads dashed against walls. They regretted putting on a show of ripping out the nobility of Tyrosh root and stem. What many freeborn had suffered was horrifying.
So far, they had tried their best to help the freeborn merchants leave the city. They paid heavy sums of coin for it to be sure, but those they had saved from such grizzly fates were transported to the mainland of the Heel of Essos to begin anew.
Having most of the freeborn of the city absent gave rise to the next problem. Tyrosh was a city of trade. All across the world it was known for the dyes they made, extracted from a particular type of sea snail found in the waters around the island. It was also known for making the most exquisite looking armour, gilded helms that could be fashioned in any shape and colour; wines and alcohols that were sold as luxury goods to the rest of the Known World, and baked honeyfingers sought after by many.
All these industries and trades were led by either the freeborn or the nobles. Yes, there were slaves who served as bureaucrats and managed some parts of trades, but the complete knowledge of the industries as a whole lay with the nobles. Now with many having fled and the ones remaining looking to do so as soon as possible, the entirety of the Tyroshi economy had ground to a halt.
Then came that damned Lyseni. Like with Myr, an envoy had been dispatched to Lys for peaceful negotiations of the reparations and wergilds the city would pay to the Crown. This time especially, they had hoped that they would learn from the news of the sack of Myr and the taking of Tyrosh and not stupidly try and defy them. They had thought Lys to be the most methodical of the Three Daughters, the city that did not seek out violence needlessly and had the largest sense of self-preservation. The ships that had the luck of limping back home after the Battle of the Gullet were all Lyseni after all, for their admiral had placed them in reserve and had them tuck tail and run once they spotted her beloved and his dragonriders coming upon them, raining fire and death from the sky. Baela shook herself out of those thoughts, clutching her golden chain unknowingly before the guilt of not joining him on Moondancer that day rose within her once more; she had already avenged him, three times over.
Alas, this time, the Lyseni had proven themselves senseless. Lysandro Rogare had thought himself clever by trying to send a failed Faceless Man recruit to slay her and her siblings. The sheer stupidity. It was not the first time that they had faced one of those.
Braavos had been quite insulted by the death of one of their own by her father’s sword, and the consequent breaking of the betrothal between one of their own and her mother. In response they had sent one of their agents to dispatch them while they were staying in Pentos, and of course, they had failed. Daemon Targaryen was quite an observant and paranoid man, who could notice the slightest changes in behaviour and demeanour of a man he knew, even seeing past the glamours the Faceless Men used. He had identified a man wearing the face of their governess and after brutal torture, he had revealed his intentions and employers. The man had been fed his own entrails before his death. His father had then sent his remains to the House of Black and White as a warning. As they had grown, he had taught the seven of them this same skill. When she had asked him how he had learned to do this, his only reply was to say that he had travelled much in his youth, when the good queen had trapped him in a marriage he had greatly despised.
The assassin that Lysandro sent did not even have half the resources and talent that a true Faceless Men had, and thus it was rather easy to spot him as he tried to pour them poisoned wine while wearing the face of a Westerosi. After a rather gruesome introduction to Morning, which may have involved her eating the man’s genitals, he had turned his cloak and swore loyalty to them for all time. They had used that loyalty during their looting of Lys, wherein he had identified the entirety of the Rogare family for the erasure of their bloodline. He had of course joined them in death. Like with Myr, the entirety of their slave population was freed, the nobles present were obliterated, the wealth and fleets of the city seized (which was immeasurably immense due to the waxing might of the Rogare Bank), but unlike Tyrosh, they had left the city to its own fate once they took everything of value.
A great number of the slaves of Lys had opted to join Westeros or the territory of the Stepstones that they were stabilising, moving there for potentially of better lives. It certainly helped that many Lyseni smallfolk had Valyrian descent; that was most welcome in a realm ruled by Dragonlords. It was fortunate that they had made progress in cleansing the Stepstones of the pirate scum that plagued them, making the new settlers, Myrish and Lyseni in origin, relatively safe.
The looting of Lys made things worse for their occupation of Tyrosh, however. Baela had been forced to take a large part of their Dragon’s Teeth and the Velaryon seamen, not trusting any new recruits currently in training with the vast amount of treasure and wealth they had taken from the city. As a consequence of this, Tyrosh had been left with only a token garrison and a young drake to keep it in line.
Massive riots had broken out in the fortnight that Baela had been away. Due to the economy grinding to a halt and them not having yet secured the coffers to aid in the relief programs they would set up, the populace had nothing to sustain themselves. They had thus turned on each other. Almost three thousand people had been killed in that fortnight, and afterwards, in the past two moons, two thousand more had been slain. They were still trying to suppress the killings for good even now, though they had massively reduced since Silverwing and the Dragon’s Teeth returned to the city.
Everyday, Baela was grateful for the foresight in recruiting the unneeded Northmen and creating the Dragon’s Teeth. She herself had painstakingly organised them into official units, for easier running and to establish a clear chain of command, just as she had learned from her father, with a few additions from her sister’s otherworldly knowledge, such as the names for various ranks.
A member of the army was named a legionnaire. Ten legionnaires made up a squadron, which was led by a Corporal deputised by a Lance Corporal. Five squadrons (fifty legionnaires) made up a platoon that was headed by a Sergeant deputised by First Corporal, both promoted from two of the five squad Corporals. Two platoons (a hundred legionnaires) made a company, with their leaders being a Captain deputised by a Master Sergeant, both of them promoted from the Sergeants of the two platoons. Five companies (five hundred legionnaires) formed a battalion, led by a Major deputised by a First Captain, both chosen from two of the five company captains. Two battalions (a thousand legionnaires) formed a regiment, headed by a Lieutenant deputised by First Major, and like the rest, both were chosen from the two Battalion Majors. Promotion was based on merit of course, although through all this, cohesion at the squad level was still maintained. It was already a point of pride for a squad to have a lieutenant or a major among them.
Above the regiment there were four more units, although these did not have a set number of members yet and for now would vary as the army continued to grow. They would also be headed by the official army high command; meaning their ranks existed above the lieutenant and they did not have to be a part of a regiment or a particular squad.
The smallest of these was the Group, made up of two to four regiments that was led by a Colonel and a Lieutenant Colonel. Above a Group, there was a Division, made up of five to nine regiments and headed by a Master Chief, and his deputy, a Chief. Above a Division, there was a Legate, made up of ten to fourteen regiments that would be led by a Legate and a Lieutenant Legate. Above this was the Corps, made up of fifteen to nineteen regiments which was headed by a General and deputised by a Lieutenant General; but so far, the legionnaires of the Dragon’s Teeth numbered 9011 in totality. For now, the hierarchy of army units only reached the Division, with two of them forming the entirety of their nascent army. Thus, above the two Master Chiefs, the entirety of the army and its officers reported to the Lord Commander, who was currently one Eldric Umber. Eldric himself only had operational command and was subject to the authority of the head of House Targaryen, their brother King Aegon. Although in these campaigns, it was to both her and Rhaena’s authority that he defaulted.
The Dragon’s Teeth were further divided into three sects based on their duties, named for the colour of their cloaks. The first was the Gold Cloaks, who were in charge of protecting Royal Cities and Towns, of which there was only King’s Landing for now. So far, a regiment had been left behind for that task, and they were in the process of recruiting more from the reports they received from their grandfather. The second was the Red Cloaks, whose sole purpose was the protection of the members of House Targaryen themselves. For now, only a platoon was devoted to that task; two squads in King’s Landing doing that duty alongside the Kingsguard for their brother, and three more in Tyrosh, doing the same for Viserys, Baela and her. The third sect was the Black Cloaks, the main force deployed on various missions informed to them by their king, and when not deployed, would be part the castle garrison for Targaryen demesnes and added to the retinues of the members of their house or given other duties such as patrolling the various roads of the realm. Once they returned to King’s Landing, all this would be made official, as well as making rotation between the Black Cloaks and the Gold common practice.
To aid their official army, requests for levies from the lords whose lands remained mostly untouched by the war such as the Vale and Oldtown, had been made. About three thousand more Westerosi men had answered that call, for in winter, the less mouths that a lord had to feed, the better for them. Better to send out men away from their lands to prevent them from turning to outlawry or banditry. In Tyrosh, there were no such problems, for the immense treasure in monies and precious metals hoarded in Tyroshi vaults alone was enough to sustain them for several years, even as that wealth was being used as a stopgap before the economy recovered. These men, alongside many former slaves from the three cities would soon be officially drafted into the Dragon’s Teeth once their training was judged sufficient. Their occupation of the city would be good training all on its own, Baela supposed.
Even with the amount of logistical organisation they had put into their army and operations, they still faced many challenges. Baela loathed to imagine what it would have been like without it. The three of them had been running themselves ragged trying to reorganise the city; with the goal of leaving it sufficient and orderly enough to return to Westeros. ‘That would take quite a while,’ Baela thought, as she stepped into the searing hot water that was her bath.
For now, their most immediate goal was to disperse the population of Tyrosh into their other realms. There would be no way to return the island city to its halcyon in the near future with all the issues it currently faced. To that end, they had begun to incentivise the citizens to migrate to King’s Landing, which itself was denuded of about half of its populace due to the war; more than a hundred thousand of them had been killed in their insanity of invading the Dragonpit alone, and another several thousand from the riots and the chaos during the Moon of Madness.
Aside from King’s Landing, the other place they encouraged migration to were the islands of the Stepstones. Tyrosh was to serve as the ‘capital’ of the Stepstones afterall, just as it had been during the days of the Valyrian Freehold. Infrastructure had been built there to support a modest population throughout the centuries and especially in the past three decades, as their father and the Triarchy had taken a keen interest in them. Six of the nine major islands were each larger than Dragonstone and Driftmark. Should all the islands be occupied and garrisoned properly, the thorny problem of piracy would significantly reduce. In a couple of decades perhaps, the territories of the Stepstones would all take part in all the trades and industries that Tyrosh of old did. But that was a long way away.
She felt the pain of her pounding head slowly receding as she got out of the bath once she was scrubbed and dressed in a nightgown. Two days without a wink of sleep left one truly a shell of themselves. Perhaps it was an exaggeration, but Baela felt half-dead. She had to sleep. The city was not going up in flames yet, she could take some hours and rest.
"Wake me at sunrise Dyanna,” she told the maid, “check on Rhaena and Viserys, they’re still in the solar working, make sure they want for nothing as they work through the night.”
“Yes, princess,” the maid replied, bowing.
“Thank you.” Baela told her in appreciation, before she slumped on the bed once more, immediately falling asleep.
The light of the sun was high and full and streaming into her suite when she awoke, startled. She looked around the room, taking in the world as if it was the first time seeing it. She rubbed her eyes and shook her head, trying to remember what she was just dreaming about, to no avail.
She called on Dyanna, who was at her service almost immediately, “What time of day is it?”
“About midday,” she answered.
“I thought we agreed to wake me up at sunrise,” she said, trying to hide the exasperation in her voice.
“I’m sorry princess, but both Princess Rhaena and Prince Viserys said that you should get as much sleep as you could and commanded me to leave you be,” Dyanna replied. Baela fought the urge to roll her eyes. It was an agreement between the three of them; whenever they faced a divisive issue, if two held the same opinion on a decision they were to take, they would follow that. Still, as refreshed as she was with the sleep she had gotten, she was a bit annoyed.
“Where are they now?” she asked, as she was taking off her nightgown, Dyanna rushing to help her. From the look of the bed next to her, Rhaena had not slept there at all. Viserys resided in the adjacent room, for him she couldn’t be sure.
“Still in the solar, princess,” came the reply.
“And were they there for the whole night?”
“Yes,” she was told, as she went to the privy, to perform her ablutions and prepare herself for the day.
“Very well, thank you Dyanna,” she replied, once she returned to the main bedchamber, “See that you get some sleep as well. You work much harder than us to be sure, and we are grateful for it. Tanselle will fill in for the rest of the day.”
“Thank you, princess,” Dyanna said, a pink blush rising to her cheeks, as she curtsied and left her chambers.
Once she was done with her preparations, she exited her chambers, two of the three Red Cloaks who had been guarding the door detaching themselves from their posts and accompanying her. The palace was alive with activity. Not for the first time, Baela was intrigued by the Myrish tapestries on the walls, each of them depicting portraits of Dragonlords from the Valyrian Freehold that held businesses and estates in Tyrosh, making them its rulers in all but name, overruling the archons on occasion. She found that strange. Tyroshi citizens had killed their Dragonlord rulers after the Doom; it was strange that they still hung tapestries of them. She shrugged, it didn’t matter after all. The city was ruled by Dragonlords once more.
She reached the Archon’s solar, the tired and smiling faces of her brother and sister welcoming her. One of her Red Cloaks joined the other guards in manning the door, while the other went into the room with her, standing sentinel and out of the way. Both her siblings were still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, and Viserys’ eyes were bloodshot. A light meal was placed on the side table beside the desk. Baela took an empty plate, served herself; she had made progress in regaining her body weight, but she was still visibly leaner than she would have liked. If Rhaena and Viserys had eaten, she knew that their food-tasters had ensured that the food was safe.
“Finally, the sleeping beauty awakes,” Viserys said to her with a charming smile on his face as she sat down and all but inhaled the sea bass stew, bread and broth. She was sitting on the luxurious seat on the opposite end of the massive mahogany work desk that could comfortably fit ten people around if it was a dining table. Right now, various files and reports were strewn about everywhere, in what Rhaena termed as ‘organised chaos’.
“She would have awoken much sooner if you did not have Dyanna refute my orders,” she replied, mindful of swallowing her food first.
“She did try to wake you. You did not even stir from your sleep. She came to us after that, begging for our assistance. We told her to leave you be,” Rhaena replied.
“How considerate of you,” she told her sister, her head tilting in sarcasm, “how very considerate indeed.” Both of them only chuckled.
“What’s got the two of you in such high spirits?” she asked the two of them.
“We’ve received a raven from Old Town. Another group of septons and septas is due to arrive soon, to help with the transition of the populace. The High Septon is very pleased with us for adding other domains to be shown the Light of The Seven,” she said that last part rather dramatically.
At least that seemed to have been going well. Apart from reducing the pressure on the island city by getting the citizens to migrate to other parts, they had brought with them a crew of the faithful to educate of the freed slaves concerning matters of handling money, provide food to those who had none and had previously relied on back-breaking work to get a meal and of course, teaching them the kindness of the Seven-Who-Are-One that proclaimed slavery to be a grave sin and had thus freed them and placed them under the their protection. It was all Rhaena’s idea to be honest, she had no regard for any religion, but she supposed that if it helped in the transition, she would hold no objection to it.
“Have we finished sorting out the new guilds and their management?” she asked.
“Not yet. We have candidates. All that remains is for them to be vetted to assure their loyalty and expertise,” her twin replied.
The guilds were the thorniest issue they were dealing with at the moment, and the one that, if solved, would enable the economy to begin its long, long road to recovery. Tyrosh was a city of trade, and before their conquest, it was organised in terms of trading guilds, with four being the most prominent. The Guild of Dyers and Tailors was in charge of the production of the dyes that Tyrosh were so famous for and controlled the textile industry of the city as a whole. The Guild of Metalwork and Artifice controlled the making and trade of famous Tyroshi metals. The Guild of Drink managed the production of the alcohols that the city exported and the Guild of Shipping and Sailors, which had control over the shipyards and the Arsenal of Tyrosh, was the Merchant Marine of the city.
The three of them had decided to preserve this structure of governance, but instead of having an archon, they would appoint a Lord Mayor above the guilds to rule the city in the Iron Throne’s name. Alongside him, there would be a Governor of the Stepstones, a non-hereditary post whose holder would serve as the overall administrator of the territories of the Narrow Sea. The exception to this would be the Guild of Shipping, which would be folded into the Royal Merchant Marine and based in King’s Landing, since all three hundred of the city’s ships had been seized and placed under the authority of the Iron Throne. All this would culminate with ‘Warden of the Narrow Sea’ being added to the list of their brother’s illustrious titles.
“Princesses, my prince,” one of their secretaries, a former slave with green hair and a red beard that had served at that same post for the former archon called to them, after he was announced into the solar by the Red Cloaks, “There’s an envoy from Braavos demanding your attention, apparently dispatched by the Sealord himself. He claims the matter he wishes to speak of to be of the highest importance.”
“Have the cooks serve him a meal,” her sister said at once, “he must have had a long journey. We shall meet with him soon. For now, make sure he’s entertained and that he wants for nothing.”
“Very well princess,” he said, before bowing and exiting the solar.
“I need to go wash,” Rhaena said as she fought a yawn.
“You need to sleep as well,” Baela told her.
“We did sleep for a few hours in the night, but unlike you, we did wake up at dawn,” she replied.
Baela rolled her eyes at her, before turning to Viserys, “What about you Viserys? Are you going to sleep? Remember you still have to attend your lessons.”
Viserys turned downcast, as he usually did when they reminded him he was but a boy of nine. He had been eager to be involved in all matters since they had reunited, refusing any notion of sending him onwards to King’s Landing. So they had come to a compromise. Two out of every three days would be spent shadowing the two of them; be it during meetings with the bureaucrats, armies and foreign lords who had some business or other in Tyrosh, or in the Golden Hall, where they held large meetings with many different citizens to receive reports of their issues and how best to address them, Viserys would be there for all of it. When it was just the three of them, he would be their page; should the two of them require some report from the record rooms or need to pass a message, he would be the one to ensure all those small tasks were done.
He was good at it, Baela had to admit, and he never complained, regardless of being a prince. Most of all, they could trust him. Unrest was still rife in the city. The recent attempt on their life by the Lyseni assassin made them paranoid, and they had still not finalised the personnel that would serve the throne on a permanent basis. To add to that, due to Viserys being a prince, his word carried authority wherever he would be sent, making things flow easier.
On the days he did not serve as their page, he would partake of his princely education, as any other prince was expected to. Two dozen maesters had been sent from the Citadel at their request to provide their expertise; two of these were placed in charge of their brother’s learning and would frequently report to them of his progress. So far, he was doing splendidly.
“You know we appreciate all your help, Viserys. You have been invaluable to us so far, and you shall continue to be so,” Baela reassured him.
Viserys let out a sigh that turned into a yawn, “Thank you. I best get going. See you at supper?”
“Yes, we shall have it whenever you deign to wake up,” Baela told him, smirking.
A maester entered as Viserys was departing with two Red Cloaks trailing him.
“Princesses. A missive has arrived from Dragonstone for you,” Maester Kyrie told them, after bowing in greeting once he was let into their solar.
“From whom exactly?” her sister asked.
“The Dragonkeepers.” Both of them perked up at that. Rhaena quickly broke the seal after making sure it was uncorrupted, unrolled the missive, reading through its contents quickly, a smile coming to her face as she did so. She passed the letter to her, and Baela did the same.
“So, they’ve done it,” Baela said, a grin coming to her face as well.
“It would be a perfect name day gift for him, don’t you think?” Rhaena.
“If we’ve finished with this damnable city by then,” Baela replied. She couldn’t help but feel pleased with the news as well. At least this one thing seemed to be going smoothly.
“The later we get back, the easier it will be for him anyways,” her sister said, her smile never wavering.
“How about Aegon?” Baela asked, as a jape of course.
Rhaena’s expression turns downcast with regret, “Shit. We’ve forgotten to write to him since we took the city.”
“He can survive three turns of the moon without hearing from us, Rhaena. Besides, when we return it will be with glory and with the brother he thought he had abandoned and left for dead. And I’m sure he hears quite a lot of us with the regular updates we send grandfather and the council,” Baela replied.
“Still, we need to write to him. You know how….fragile….he is,” she told her. Baela only nodded, not wishing to prolong the subject of their brother. They were all fragile; most of their family was obliterated after all. It was their duty to pick up the pieces and restore it.
Rhaena changed the subject, yawning, “I need a bath, and a couple hours of sleep. Will you meet this Braavosi?”
Baela nodded. Rhaena walked out soon after burning the missive from the Dragonkeepers on the only lit candle in the room.
It took a few moments more for Baela to finish her food before the Braavosi entered the solar, and sat where she had just been before Rhaena had left. Baela sat where Rhaena had just vacated. He was a short man, bald, with a bushy beard. His face however, seemed taut, like he had not laughed in a long while.
“My lord,” Baela began politely, “I hope you have enjoyed our hospitality thus far. Please, have a seat. What did you wish to speak about?”
“Princess,” he responded, his tone indicating that he was in no mood for niceties, “I am Thoren Otherys, brother to Gyloro, the Sealord of Braavos.” Baela went to reply to his greeting but this Thoren continued to speak, “Braavos wishes to know why the Iron Throne has invaded and occupied Tyrosh unjustly. It was not part of the agreement made between the Free Cities and Westeros. Apart from that, there were trading agreements that Braavos had made with Tyrosh that should stand.”
“The Iron Throne conquered Tyrosh due to them responding to our entreaties in a hostile fashion. As for the trade agreements, you shall need to specify exactly which ones, for in our records, there are several.” Baela responded, her tone and manner going serious as well.
She knew of the deals that Braavos had enforced on Tyrosh beginning from when the Century of Blood was coming to an end. Braavos had used the waxing influence of its Iron Bank to impose its will and whims on Tyrosh for decades. Braavosi ships were allowed to moor on the Tyroshi harbour without any payment whatsoever, while Tyroshi ships did not enjoy the same privilege on Braavosi coasts. In addition, when the Triarchy had been formed, Braavosi ships had used the Tyroshi corridor for passage in order to enjoy the privilege of crossing the Stepstones without the need of any toll payment. It was why her grandfather had sought out a Braavosi to marry their mother. With that alliance and the three Velaryon dragons, they would have dominated the Narrow Sea regardless of who occupied them, without having to spend as much time and resources as they did in conquest. There were other deals that had been signed from before the Triarchy came into existence, agreements that all but extorted Tyrosh.
“There was an agreement we had with Tyrosh and the Triarchy concerning mooring our ships here, and on every other island on the Stepstones without the payment of tolls. That agreement must be kept as it was. Apart from that, there’s deals we forged with the Dyers and Drinks on reducing the amount charged to Braavos for their products. We want both of these deals to be upheld.” Thoren continued.
“The Stepstones and Tyrosh are under the authority of the Iron Throne at present. Any past deals made between the Braavos and us will have to be revised in a way that reflects that. From there we can come to an agreement afterwards that will suit us both.” Baela replied, trying to keep as congenial a tone as she could.
“Braavos desires for the agreements to stay as they were.”
“They will not.” Baela was not one to mince words, that was more her sister's specialty. “Most of those agreements were outrageously extortionary to the city of Tyrosh. Some would call that slavery could they not? Isn’t that what Braavos preaches so staunchly against,” she paused, looking at the man in infront of her almost pale slightly. “The tolls for the moorage and passage of ships on the Isles of the Stepstones will be the same for Braavos as they will be for the rest of the world.”
She tilted her head, her face easing into an almost smile, but the tone she used had no amusement in it, “Braavos should be rather fortunate that the Iron Throne has not asked the Iron Bank to release all Tyroshi assets stored in it. Tyrosh has both the rights and means to do so. Myr and Lys would certainly agree with me on that count.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, My Lord, simply a fact. Tell your Sealord that if he desires true negotiation, he is welcome to do so. For now however, these demands made on our city are untenable.”
The man opposite her was seething with rage, but he held himself back. Baela shifted her attention completely over the reports concerning the candidates they were to recruit to govern the guilds. They had already been selected and would be vetted on the knowledge of their positions on the morrow, to assume their duties as soon as possible if they passed. The shutting of the door was what informed her that the unwelcome guest had left. Good riddance.
She read through the list of names for about an hour more, before putting them aside and studying the latest reports concerning the state of the other Stepstones Isles. They had spent extensive effort in clearing the pirates that haunted them, using Silverwing before they took Tyrosh and only the fleet afterwards. Cousin Alyn had been left at the head of a fleet of almost eighty ships to secure the isles and patrol the waters between them.
To make their work easier for them, they had conscripted the part of the rogue Velaryon Fleet that had turned their cloaks during the Battle of the Gullet and had since taken to piracy. They had also called upon cousins Malentine, Rhogar and their supporters from Driftmark; pardons, gold and lands on the isles being guaranteed to them in exchange of adding their squadrons to theirs.
That had proven to be sufficient incentive. Since they conquered had Tyrosh; those Velaryon cousins and their fleets had taken to their work in stride. It was a win-win scenario for them at the end of the day; their treacherous kin took the vanguard at any skirmish they faced against pirate fleets (of which they were numerous); and thus they faced the greatest danger of death. If they died, well, that was a welcome tragedy. They would join their treasonous brothers, who had died either during the war or of the wounds they took when Uncle Viserys had had their tongues removed.
Her other Velaryon cousins, Daeron and Monford, who had proven themselves loyal thus far, had taken control of the fleets, shipyards and Arsenal of Tyrosh. They coordinated the logistics of migrating the populace to Westeros. Monford had been loyal all through the war, and a great friend to both her and Rhaena. They were even considering appointing him as the Master of Ships in future. As for Daeron, her daughter, Daenaera Velaryon, had been taken as a ward of the Crown to ensure his loyalty. Apparently, in Rhaena’s memories, little Daenaera had become queen through Baela’s own efforts; she had laughed herself hoarse when she had first heard that. How ludicrous! Rhaena’s tales of their other lives were always funny to her.
A Red Cloak announcing one of their army legionnaires broke her out of her wandering thoughts. Baela fought the frustration that was rising within her. This was why they preferred working in the dead of night when most of the castle was asleep and there was no soul to disturb them.
“Princess,” the lieutenant said, standing at attention and offering her a salute.
“At ease.”
“A fleet of ships, all of them armed, has been spotted sailing from the Disputed Lands and heading for the Skulls. Ser Alyn requests your assistance.”
Alyn had more bloodthirst than he had sense; some of his men had begun addressing him by a hilariously abhorrent sobriquet, Oakenfist, apparently for smashing through enemy vessels like a fist made of oaks. If he was requesting a dragon’s aid in a battle, it meant that the fleet attacking them had to be enormous. Another mistake they had made. They should have dealt with the fleets of the Disputed Lands much earlier, but in their notions of non-interference with mainland Essos, they had not. To be fair, the Disputed Lands had not retaliated to their conquests until now, and they would soon have the invasions of Pentos and Volantis to worry about; invasions which were just about to begin, according to their sources. Oh, well, no better time than the present.
“Very well,” she said with a smile, as she left the solar and returned to her suite, the Red Cloaks following.
Tanselle helped her change into riding leathers, lined with wool on the inside. The chain-mail armour she favoured went above the leathers. Rhaena had tried to insist on plate armour, the type their grandmother favoured, but Baela found it too heavy and uncomfortable to bear for hours upon dragon’s back.
Once that was done, she made her way to the courtyard, Silverwing immediately becoming alert the moment she sensed her rider, trilling in happiness as she approached. Baela went to pet her snout, embracing her warm scales. Even with the heat of this rare sunny day during the winter, the dragon radiated her own natural warmth that was always soothing to her. Too many days had passed since last seeing her Silver Queen, the duties of managing Tyrosh leaving no time for pleasure flights. She felt slightly guilty at the joy that Silverwing exuded from their bond; she did not deserve to be neglected.
She was hugging the dragon’s snout for a few moments, her large light-yellow eyes staring at her own light lilac with nothing but warmth as she waited for the dragon’s saddle to be brought. Once it was, she saddled the dragon, three of the five Dragonkeepers that had come from Dragonstone with them helping her. Silverwing did not so much as growl at their presence; so used to humans was she. She checked and rechecked the saddle fastenings several times once they were done. Satisfied, she asked for the Myrish far eye, and after ensuring that it worked, she put it into the saddle pack.
Morning, now approaching the size of a destrier, stirred from where she was asleep, looked at the activity around her, and promptly laid her head down again to return to her slumber after letting out a cute growl that had her Red Cloaks retreating in alarm. Baela chuckled. It was not often that the one year old dragon was content to spend her day sleeping. She had to have been well-fed. Baela was glad to see her thriving. Rhaena would rider her soon, she knew. Moondancer was not that much larger or older than Morning was now when Baela had first ridden her.
Soon enough, she mounted her dragon and with a worded command, Silverwing took to the skies, roaring in eagerness and anticipation.
VISERYS
He was startled awake when he heard that sound again. The sound of a body falling. Just like last time. For a moment, when he opened his eyes, he thought he was back in his suite in the Bazanne Manse, but after the features of the chambers registered in his mind, he remembered where he was. Tyrosh. He was in his chambers in Tyrosh. No longer a captive. Then why was a body falling? It clicked for him a moment later. Invasion. Just like last time. But unlike last time, it was not for his rescue.
He quickly scampered out of his bed, not even stopping to dress; it was his custom to sleep naked, a custom he had been quite glad to resume once he was out of captivity. His sisters had adjoining chambers to his, and it was the first place that came to his mind on where he should go. Just as he shut the door that connected his chamber to his sister’s, he heard someone banging on his own door, trying to break in. He privately thanked himself for his forbearance on locking it from the inside.
He found Rhaena deep asleep, her long silver hair splayed out beneath her head on the pillow. She was drooling. Viserys would have chuckled at that if not for the dire straits they were currently in. He shook her three times before she finally woke, startled.
“Viserys!” she began, before quieting and her mouth going agape once she noticed his nakedness.
“We’re being attacked,” he whispered.
Rhaena did not waste time, immediately getting up, shaking off her sleep and reaching for something under Baela’s bed; a crossbow. Baela had a crossbow under her bed. Of course she did. The banging on their door began now. Rhaena had locked their bed chambers too. Good. It would take a while for their assailants to get to them. And when they came through, they would be ready.
Rhaena notched a bolt on her crossbow, her eyes focussed entirely on the door. He knew that Baela had begun instructing her in its use. He hoped she had even a modicum of Baela’s skill. Viserys himself had none; he had only begun learning the basics on the training field during his captivity. As matters stood, Rhaena was their hope. He would be more reassured if Baela was here. The thought dawned on him then. Baela. She would still be in the solar. He hoped that these assailants had not reached her.
The door soon gave in, the lock coming undone and its pieces cluttering to the floor. Even for all the strength of the oak that made it, it was still only wood. They two of them were crouched, Rhaena’s bed hiding them. They were fortunate in that regard. The twins’ beds were situated in such a way that their heads would be facing the same wall as the main door. The door itself was some distance to the bed, meaning they would have a few moments extra before the men got to them.
Those moments would prove to be enough. Peering above the bed, Viserys saw a man bursting into the chambers, himself holding a crossbow of his own. He did not get a good look on his features before a bolt had caught him square on his knee. He howled in pain as he fell. He turned to see Rhaena knocking another bolt, quick as a snake. A second assailant followed the first, and this time, a bolt found him on his shoulder before he could fire his. Viserys took the next bolt and handed it to his sister to knock, and when a third man came in, a few moments later than the first two, the bolt penetrated his right eye. That one fell silently, all life instantly gone.
A flurry of Red Cloaks followed the three men. Their men.
“My prince, princess,” one of them called out, worriedly.
“We are here,” his sister answered, as they rose from where they had crouched, “we’re unharmed. Where is Baela?” She asked, letting her crossbow fall to the bed.
“She flew into battle, princess,” one of the Red Cloaks answered her, “Ser Alyn called for her assistance against a fleet sailing from the Disputed Lands.”
She breathed a sigh of relief once she heard that.
“Take these two to the dungeons, and have the maester make sure they do not die. They will need to be questioned. Take the dead one and feed him to Morning,” she ordered, immediately casting off any worry she had before and dawning the mask of a ruler, “and for Gods sake, Viserys, go wear some fucking clothes!"
Comments
Peter
I believe the targaryens got dark sister back when years later Aemond’s dead body washed ashore and the sword was stuck in his eye
StormyAngel
So, I'm not a crossbow expert, but I fully believe that thing she's using in the video was a prop and not really properly cocked at any point. Likely for safety reasons for the film crew and actors etc. I mean, in the one shot we see on screen the rope behind the bolt barely moved. I got my estimate by just googling "How fast can you reload a crossbow". Here's a link to one of the sites that gives an estimate of 15-20 seconds reload (https://thebodytraining.com/how-fast-can-you-reload-a-crossbow/). Most of the websites I saw agreed with this estimate or thought it was too fast even.
Neyra
Yeah. Tyrosh took more than they thought they would. They didn't have time to plan as well as they could, but the still had to move as quickly as possible to ensure that Tyrosh is theirs before the Triarchy and the disputed lands devolve into war. I was going off this scene in House of the Dragon of how crossbows work: https://youtu.be/6m30gpQu_dI?si=R4N5CGTvGZrmJHwD. Is this an inaccurate representation of them? If it is, please tell me and I'll rewrite that bit. There's more coming.
Neyra
Maybe the dredged the lake. I'll have to do some research concerning this to be sure, since I'll most likely have to describe how it'll be done. Sadly, they didn't have bodies to have a proper funeral for. We shall see how things go concerning finding Darks Sister.
StormyAngel
One thing I’m really enjoying about this fic is that you move things along at a good pace. Here we have Tyrosh conquered, but giving them trouble, and you give us a feel for what their days look like and also their plans. It makes sense that they’d run into road bumps they didn’t expect or know to anticipate. For all Rhaena’s wisdom and their ambitions and planning, they all still have plenty to learn. On the job training for our up and coming conquerors. I am definitely curious who these assassins are. One thing I want to note is that it feels kind of impossible that Rhaena can reload a crossbow that quickly. Crossbows are notoriously difficult to reload, with an average of 60 seconds, and a high speed of 15 - 20 seconds. Here you have Rhaena doing it in 3-5 seconds twice rapidly, like it’s a bow or something. A simple solution: they both (Rhaena and Baela) have crossbows under their bed (At Baela’s insistence?). Have Rhaena hand one to Viserys. She fires the first, Visery fires the second, then Rhaena fires the first one again which she reloaded while he was firing. Still pretty fast reloading, but a lot less impossible seeming. And at last I have caught up. I am really loving this fic, as I'm sure you can tell. Sorry for the distraction during your exam season. I'll be less of a pest going forwards probably. XD
Zenokya
Kind of curious but I always wondered how they took back Dark Sister from the bottom of the God’s eye. Kind of sad also that Daemon never had a proper Targaryen funeral, might give some closure for the whole family. Same funeral urns as Rhaenyra, twin flame.
Neyra
Thank you so much. I'm so glad you like this story. This is my first outing as an author, and it means a lot to me to know there's people who like it. Aah, I shall get to the Daemon SI once this story is done, you can be sure of that. Currently putting down all the ideas I'm get for it, and the plot is now beginning to take shape. In this case, no, but we shall get to the Faceless men soon enough. Stay tuned to see who sent these assassins. No, they did not. They've put those eggs in "stasis" deep within the Dragonmont, close to the magma, where it'll make sure that they'll remain viable but not hatch. They'll also be unreachable to Cannibal. They plan to hatch them in the cradles of their children they way Jaehaerys and Alysanne hatched Vermithor and Silverwing, since having them hatch before is quite tricky due to there being no dragonpit to keep them chained (reconstructing it will take a number of years), and the Cannibal still being active on Dragonstone. Stay tuned for all of this.
Zenokya
Incredible chapter and story! Love the chapter you did for a Daemon SI will support 100% Wonder if it is Braavos that hired the assassins ? Did they hatch the eggs on Dragonstone ?
Neyra
Posting about that on the Discord.
avatarjedi
Hey! Saw an updated on SB and was wondering if there was an update schedule for here as well?
Neyra
Working on that chapter. I'm glad you like it. Lol, he came out of there fast, didn't even bother to think
Neyra
Yes. I meant saviors. My fingers got confused as I typed lol.
Neyra
I'm really glad you like it. There's more coming to be sure, once my exam season comes to an end lolz.
avatarjedi
Great new chapter!
avatarjedi
You mean liberators?
Neyra
He gets the glory via osmosis, lol. To the eyes of the slaves, the Targaryens are their saviors, that includes Viserys.
Omar
Why are people calling Viserys, the Valiant? Kind of seems like an Unearned title. Since his sisters did most of the heavy lifting when it comes to freeing the slaves. While Viserys (who is still a child) just sat on the sidelines. Other than that, can’t wait for the next chapter!
Neyra
Thank you😌 Stay tuned
KAZUHA02
Looking forward for future chapters. Your story is enjoyable
Diego
Great chapter , poor Viserys is traumatized and naked lol. Looking forward to the next chapter.
